We have had an ongoing battle with mailbox terrorists and their postal jihad for over a year now. We're pretty sure it's kids from the local high school who play a certain sport, and ever since I ask the coach to talk to his players last spring, we haven't had any more attacks on our mailbox.
Until last night. I came home from work, after 11pm, and saw remnants of pumpkin splattered all over the road before and after our driveway. I got that dreaded pit-in-my-stomach feeling and sure enough, our mailbox was gone. I found it about a yard away from it's post, bloodied with pumpkin pulp and smashed in on one side so severely that it popped the back off.
One thing that was different this time was that both of our neighbors' mailboxes were hit too.
Oddly enough, I somehow felt better; less personally attacked this time. It appeared to be a random act of vandalism; a crime of opportunity. I know it's not nice to be happy about the misfortune of others, but I can't say that I'm not relieved.
I did call the one neighbor last night to let him know that his mailbox had be knocked down. The other neighbor's mailbox was down, but someone had propped it up next to it's post, and I know that they go to bed early, so I didn't bother them at such a late hour. The neighbor that I did call came out to see the damage. I told him that it looked like the mailboxes had been hit by pumpkins and we called the police because our mailbox was always a target. He acknowledged that he knew ours was always getting hit. And that's when I got a little irritated. I don't know, it was something about what he relayed to me when he said that. I took it to mean that yeah, we've known about all the attacks on your mailboxes, but we never say anything because we choose not to. Me in my paranoid delusion also took it to mean that this stuff always happens to us, and never them.
OK, here's the Mrs. Kravitz connection. I used to pride myself in being like "Mrs. Kravitz", the nosey neighbor on the 1964-1972 hit TV show "Bewitched." Except that I, in my self-appointed community watchdog status, stick my nose into the affairs of others because I am trying to help them...to be neighborly.
And in last night's case, I was doing just that; looking out for the interest of my neighbor. I put aside our relational awkwardness(long story, don't ask) to notify them of their downed mailbox so that they wouldn't be shocked in the morning to find that it had been hit.
After I got back to the house, I couldn't stop thinking about what my neighbor said. And then it hit me; the memory of an earlier incident and the hurt that came with it. About 7-8 years ago, as I was pulling into the driveway, I noticed that the neighbor's front door was wide open. So, me being "Mrs. Kravitz," I went up to the door, stuck my head in the doorway and said "hello?"
No one answered so I just closed the door and went home. I did call to leave a message on their answering machine to let them know that their door was open and that they should check to see if everything was OK.
Well, the neighbor lady called back and asked if I took a stuffed bear that was in one of the front rooms; it was an heirloom from her grandmother and it was missing. I remember feeling like I had just been smacked across the face. "What?!" Here I had tried to be a responsible neighbor and instead of a thank you, I get accused of theft. I remember being stunned, humiliated and deeply hurt by what she had said. I had not, nor never have seen, that stinkin' bear in my entire life and I would have never--EVER--committed unlawful entry and theft and risk being charged with felonious activity which would have not only embarassed myself and my family, but would have cost me my job if I had been convicted of a crime...and all for a stupid stuffed animal! Geez Louise, people!
The old me would have done whatever I could have to prove that I did not take that bear, but I remember being so devastated by the accusation that I just left the matter alone. The NEW me, however, would hold my head up high, because I know(and certainly God knows) for a fact, that I did nothing wrong except try and look out for the well-being of a neighbor. I had nothing to hide and no need to take something that was not mine. I am not about stuff.
But when I was reminded of that memory last night, A sickening revelation came over me. Oh my gosh, my neighbor probably thinks that I'm the one who hit his mailbox! Either that or I brought this upon his mailbox just by association. These Jedi-mind tricks are messing with my head! I feel as if I'm being sucked into a vortex of insanity where right is wrong and wrong is right, and I am so terribly misunderstood.
I'm tired of it all. I'm tired of caring and having it backfire on me. Lots of other people don't care, so why should I? Because, dang nabbit, it's in my blood. It's an automatic reflex that is going to be hard to control. I'm going to have to willingly make an effort to not get involved but realistically it is going to be easier said than done. But hey, if others can do it, then so can I.
So, as of today, it is with sad regret that I must announce the official death of "Mrs. Kravitz," the nosey neighbor. I will miss her, but not the headache or heartache that came with the job.
No comments:
Post a Comment